The Days After
by timydamonkey
Summary: After Mary's death, the people around John worry that he's losing it.


The Days After:

* * *

Summary: After Mary's death, the people around John worry that he's losing it.

Author's Note: First of all: this is narrated by an original character, because it would not make any sense otherwise. It's not about the OC though – it's actually a character study of John, specifically after Mary's death, and is narrated by an outsider looking in on something he has no way of understanding.

Oh, yeah, I'm English, and while I've tried to Americanise it a bit, I may well have missed some bits. Apologies in advance for any issues!

* * *

The last normal conversation that he has with John, now that he thinks back, was particularly unremarkable. It's an empty conversation one that fills the time. It's polite disinterest. (It's 'I've got a lot going on right now and don't have time to care'.)

"Hey," he says.

"Hey," John says back.

"How's Mary and the kids?"

John grins. He loves his family. "They're fine. Well, exhausted too, looking after Sammy. Your family?"

"Great," he says, and if it's a lie, John sure doesn't notice.

"I should get back," John says, and he's aware that it's to help his wife.

"You gonna turn into a regular old nursemaid, Johnny," he teases.

John laughs.

Watching him leaving, he can't help but think 'he's so happy'.

But then he's not.

* * *

He doesn't know at first. He feels bad later, but really, what else could he have done? He can't just tell instinctively something's wrong.

He wishes he could.

It starts with a woman, his awareness. A friendly faced woman, but a gossip if he ever heard one.

"Did you hear about the fire?"

"Fire?" he echoes like a fool.

"Yes, the fire," the woman says impatiently. "Fried a woman right up, I hear. Poor dear," she tags on in the sympathy of a gossip: sorry for what happened, but thanks for giving me something to talk about.

"Awful," he says, but it's empty. It means very little to him. It's sad, but that's all. He doesn't know her.

Except that he does.

* * *

Mary Winchester. The blond lady with the pretty smile. Loved her family – her two children, her husband. Sometimes she'd show up and buy something for John, little meaningless things to cheer him up, and she'd smile with fondness whenever she talked of him.

John and Mary, separated by death. He'd thought it would be bad, but it's worse.

* * *

The next time he meets John, it's at a bar. He hasn't seen him for a few days.

"Hey," he says, but John doesn't answer. "How're you feeling?" he prods.

"My wife's dead," he snaps. "I'm _fantastic._"

"What?" he repeats, and he knows it's stupid, but he hasn't quite connected the dots yet. "Mary? Jesus, John. I'm sorry."

John sips his drink. He doesn't say anything.

"What happened?" He doesn't mean to say it. He isn't normally so insensitive, but he's never been a particularly tactful man either.

"Electrical failure," John says dryly, deadpan. There's something off about him. Perhaps John is wondering at what a nasty way to die it is, because that's what he's thinking. And so _avoidable_. He didn't peg John as the type to leave faulty wiring alone, but then it doesn't normally leave fatal consequences. How bad _was_ it? He'd never leave anything alone that long.

They sit in silent camaraderie, drinking. There's nothing else to say.

But when he gets home, he examines the lights and appliances as thoroughly as a detective.

* * *

The next time he sees John, he has to seek him out. He doesn't start out intending to see him, he tells himself. He's just finally decided to get the brakes in his car looked at – just in case.

He asks the attending mechanic casually where John is.

The man shrugs. "Good question. Haven't seen him in days. Think we're considering it 'unofficial compassionate leave', though." The man winks, but he isn't smiling. "Sorry for his wife," he adds gruffly. "She was a nice lady."

"Yeah," he agrees. "Yeah."

* * *

Nobody knows where John Winchester is staying, but he finds him at the bar again.

* * *

His first impression is that John's trying to drink himself to death. Hesitantly – and isn't that unusual for him? – he tries to take the drink from him, but it's a bad idea as John swings for him – and he's _good_.

"Okay, okay, calm down, man," he says, backing off and attempting to sound placating, and while John looks as agitated as ever, he's stopped fighting.

But maybe that's just that he's got his beer back.

"Where're you staying?" he asks, because now that it's occurred to him he's damn curious. The fire didn't take the whole house, but he knows John isn't staying there – would perhaps refuse to ever stay there.

John answers by taking another sip of beer.

He hesitates. "If you need a place to crash for a bit-"

"I got my car," John snaps at him.

The two statements don't seem related until they meld into one in his head.

"You're not…?" he starts, and he thinks he's actually _gaping_. Half of him what's John to get his grief out now, so that he can be productive again… but he doesn't know how to deal with it. Crying, a punch in the face, he doesn't know what would be worse.

John doesn't answer, but he doesn't expect him to.

"Your kids, John… they can't…" His trail of thought suddenly diverts. "Where _are_ your kids? They're not…" He doesn't know what he was going to say. Alone? Dead?

"They're _fine_," John says, managing to sound both protective and infuriating at once. Something must show on his face, because he says, "They're with a neighbour."

"Okay, John. Okay." He doesn't want to set the man off. He's in a drunken stupor, and he doesn't look like he'll be letting up any time soon, but maybe John will surprise him.

John's surprised him a lot these past few days.

He fumbles for conversation, but what comes out of his mouth is so ridiculous that he wishes he'd stayed quiet, not that it's done any good the past few days. "The house… is the rest of the wiring okay?"

He almost misses John's glare, he's so busy berating himself. (You really think he cares about the _house_? His wife just died!)

"Nothing wrong with the wiring," John snarls. "I'm not a complete fool."

"You're just not thinking straight, John," he says, and it sounds pathetic, even to his own ears.

And maybe it's the drink (_God_, he _hopes_ it's the drink), but suddenly John's ranting about his capabilities as a father and husband, and he just thinks, oh God, but maybe John needs it… maybe he needs to talk.

"Faulty wiring," John mutters, and he's still going at it. "They must think I'm an idiot. She was bleeding on the ceiling. You think electricity does that?"

And he just thinks, what the _hell_, wonders how the conversation got to this point. His stupid big mouth.

"John," he says, and he should really learn to keep his mouth shut, but he can't let the man go on thinking… whatever he was thinking. How had he missed it? The man had been drunk enough since it had happened. He supposed it wasn't surprising. "I know it's hard, but it was just electrical failure…"

"_You_ weren't there. I know what I saw."

"I'm sure you saw a lot of things with the amount you're drinking, John… you're drunk. Get your head together."

And for the first time that evening, as John looks up, he suddenly realises the man looks frighteningly sober now. (But he isn't. He _can't_ be.) "My head's perfectly fine," he says, getting up from the stool on which he sat, giving an angry glare.

"Johnny…"

But the man just storms out the door in an impressively straight line, as he thinks, please let it be the drink, and don't let him be losing it.

* * *

He tells himself that he's going to see John, but that would be a lie. He tells himself that he isn't scared of what happened the previous evening, that he isn't worried about John's society, but that would be just as untruthful.

So he plays the fool as he walks down the Winchester's old street and knocks on doors in the pretence of asking for information about John.

At the seventh door he knocks on, he finds what he's looking for. He talks his way into the house as the weary woman smiles at him, looks like she's been looking for some respite. He can see why as she goes into the kitchen, insisting that she should be hospitable and make him a coffee. He hopes it'll help clear his head.

Looking at John Winchester's sons, he can see their mother in them, and wonders if that's what's hurt John enough for him to apparently leave his kids with a neighbour indefinitely. Does he even plan to come back?

He's being unfair, and he knows it, but John's behaviour is becoming increasingly disturbing. It's grief, but that doesn't make it any better.

"Hey," he says instead, trying to make his voice gentle, but probably failing.

The kid stares at him warily, doing as good a silent impression as his father. Even the baby's silent, and it's unnerving him.

"Dean and Sammy," he says calmly. "And you're Dean, right?" he offers to the eldest boy, shuffling closer. The kid doesn't say anything, but intercepts before he can get anywhere near the younger brother. "Are you okay, Dean? I'm not going to hurt you or Sammy. I just wanted to see if you were okay. And if your dad's okay," he adds as an afterthought.

"I'm lookin' after Sammy 'til dad gets back," the kid tells him instead, and he looks _old_, and far too solemn. He doesn't sound like he wants to speak, and the words seem to twist until he can barely decipher them, but maybe that's just him.

"That's good." He smiles. "How's your dad been?" He doesn't know what he's expecting the kid to say: he's going crazy, he scares me.

But the kid just says, "Sad," like it's the most obvious thing in the world.

And it is.

The kid seems to sense something is wrong, and refuses to speak to him again, just hovering around his brother ready to glare at anything that seemed to come anywhere near his brother. No wonder the woman who lived there seemed so worried.

He drinks his coffee and makes idle chitchat, thinking, John, what the hell are you doing?

* * *

Three days later, and he's beginning to feel like some sort of failed stalker. He can't decide if that makes him better or worse than a successful one. He just knows that he's worried, and, hell, he's had his fair share of family problems recently – albeit milder – and he hasn't fell to pieces.

John has two kids depending on him, and he seems to be falling apart at the seams.

There are whispers of _crazy_ behind John's back, now, news travelling like wildfire. It follows him in and traipses its own way out as he enquires at the garage, but John's still not there.

Even they're worried now, calling him, but there's no answer. He tries to wrangle John's cell number from them, but even in worry, they won't oblige. He has to resort to more unorthodox and more morally and legally questionable methods, but right now he doesn't really care.

* * *

He comes across the car. He'd love to say it's on a random road, a random street, an accidental meeting, but as a matter of fact it's on the Winchester's old road and he'd been wandering there to see the kids again.

John is with his kids, apparently working on buckling his children into the back of the Impala.

"John," he says in as calm a greeting as he can muster.

He seems to stiffen slightly, but finishes fastening the seat belts before turning around and closing the door on his kids.

"Yeah?"

"About last night..."

His eyes seem to darken. "Forget about that," he says instead, and heads around to the driver's door.

You've changed your tune, he thinks, but what he says is, "John, what are you doing?"

"Driving," he says, reaching for the door. "Or is there a law against that now?" But he's barely listening anymore, because he can see something glinting at John's side, and he _knows_ what it is.

A gun.

And he wonders, suddenly, if he's ever going to see the Winchesters again, or if John's going to drive them off to their death.

(A murder suicide…?)

"John," he says instead, far more calmly than he feels. "I think you're sick."

John barks – it's almost a laugh – but says in a tone telling he was trying to keep calm, "I'm perfectly fine, thanks, so stay out of my business."

"Where are you going?"

And John definitely is losing it, if 'it' means his temper. "None of your business!" he snaps instead, patience gone. There's a wail from the backseat – Sammy – and the elder kid, Dean, is staring at him through the glass like it's somehow his fault.

His words catch in his throat, and the car is driven away.

* * *

It takes a while, but he gets ahold of John's cell number. Illicit means, he thinks, but does it really matter anymore?

Dialing the number, he gets:

"_The number you have called is not in use. Please hang up._"

And he wants to say he thinks of praying for John, of praying for his little kids, for their souls. He wants to say he thinks of praying for Mary.

But what he actually thinks is: _shit.

* * *

_Author's Note: My first SPN fic with actual dialogue! Heh. Reviews appreciated. Hope the OC didn't get overbearing in his cluelessness. _  
_


End file.
